The Sandman, He Comes
by AbeSapien99
Summary: Sleep is disrupted all around the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defence headquarters when an explosion rips through the quiet night. It's Liz...but the reason behind her most recent pyro-episode goes beyond regular nightmares when the Sandman comes..


_WHUMP!_

It was a sound and vibration Hellboy knew all too well: explosion. A muffled one, heard through thick walls and doors and down long hallways. But in here, and especially with experience, he knew exactly what it was and where it came from.

Torn from his slumber, he threw his covers aside and, dressed only in his boxers – a white pair covered in little red hearts with horns and pointed devil-tails (gee, for a fish-man, Abe sure had a dry sense of humour when it came to gifts) – dashed from his room. He was glad that the higher-ups had finally decided to disable the automatic sprinkler system and leave it to manual control for situations like this. Hellboy ran down the halls, the clatter of his cloven hooves hardly noticeable amidst the oppressive shrill of the fire alarms. Being well past midnight, the usually-busy corridors were empty of people and, well, _not-people_, so there was no one to get in his way.

Empty except for him and, as he saw when he skidded around a corner, a crowd outside Liz's doorway. A smoking doorway, minus the actual door, which lay smouldering on the floor across the corridor. A group of agents, some dressed in their nightwear, and an old janitor lingered uncertainly around the portal. When Hellboy appeared, all eyes turned to him and everyone seemed to let out a collective sigh.

"We were hoping you'd get here soon," said an agent HB didn't recognize.

He frowned at her as he slowed. "What's wrong?" he asked, peeking into Liz's bedroom. It was dark in there, save a few flickers from some remaining flames.

"No clue," another agent answered. "We were, uh, hoping you'd check it out."

Hellboy nodded and patted him on the shoulder with his normal-sized left hand. "Right. Wouldn't want you to singe your jammies," he muttered, and stepped over the threshold.

It was hot inside, but that didn't really bother him; he had been in warmer spots. The stench of burnt plastic and wood and, well... burnt _everything_... was strong, and wisps of smoke hovered in the air. But this was all only the aftermath of a relatively short, quick explosion, not a sustained burn.

"Liz?" he asked as he picked his way through the shadowy interior. The only light came from a few burning pieces of furniture and the hallway outside.

"I'm here," a quiet, embarrassed voice said from the corner where the bed was... or had been? No, _was_: as Hellboy's eyes adjusted and he looked closer, he could make out Liz's small silhouette sitting on the edge of the crispy but still existing bed. He stepped over the remains of a chair and sat beside her.

"Bad dream, kiddo?" he asked.

Liz had her face in her hands. "I guess you could say that," was her muffled response.

"Hey, it was just a dream," soothed Hellboy. She was on his left side, so with that hand he reached over to pat her innocently and good-naturedly on the leg. But his hand found a pillow on her lap, and when she realized what he was doing, she recoiled and abruptly slid away.

"Don't," Liz said shakily. "Just... don't."

"Liz, I... sorry." He paused, unsure of how to continue, then just asked the obvious: "What's wrong?"

She let out a long sigh and said, "It's been a long time."

"Since?"

He could just make out her sideways glance and the flat expression on her face. "I'm really not going to get into this with you."

HB frowned. "Get into what? Liz, you're not making any–"

Just then Kate Corrigan dashed through the doorway from the corridor and cut him off. "Oh my," she groaned, surveying the damage. "Liz, you all right?"

"Yeah," replied Liz, "I just..." She let out another shorter sigh.

Kate came to kneel in front of Liz and looked her straight in the face. "You just what?" she asked.

Liz's eyes flicked quickly towards Hellboy.

Kate looked from her to HB, who raised his brow questioningly at her, then back to Liz. Then it clicked. "Oh..." she said. "Hellboy, could you, uh, step outside for a bit?"

"Yeah..." he said slowly as he stood. "No problem. Is something wrong?"

"No," Kate answered quickly. "And yes." She exchanged glances with Liz, then faced HB again. "I think we'll need to have a meeting about this in the morning. In the meantime, you can get back to bed."

"Okay," he muttered, and left. A few more people had appeared in the corridor and all of them watched him as he came out of the burnt bedroom.

Abe Sapien, still wet and dripping from his tub where he generally slept, approached him. "Is Liz all right?" he asked concernedly. Liz's uncontrolled explosions were fairly common, but none of them ever got used to it.

"Yeah, she seems okay," said Hellboy.

Abe caught his thoughtful tone. "But...?"

HB glanced back into the darkened room. "But something's fishy here, and it ain't you, pal."

***

Morning saw a group meeting with everyone looking pretty tired. Despite nobody managing to fall asleep after the explosion, bright and early at 7 a.m. they were all gathered in one of the Bureau's many conference rooms. Liz sat staring at the table, Abe was reading one of several different newspapers he had with him and sipping some sweet-smelling tea, Hellboy was attempting to untangle a yo-yo he had found in one of his coat's pockets, and Tom Manning stood cross-armed looking out the room's wall of windows. No one spoke, and there was hardly any noise at all until Kate strode in with a stack of folders. These she passed around so everyone had one.

"Well," she started, "we've been watching this for a while, but we were hoping it was just a coincidence. Now we're pretty sure it's not just coincidence."

"_What's_ not 'just a coincidence?' " Hellboy asked, picking up his proffered folder and opening it. Inside it were several reports with attached biographies of people who had experienced dreams and nightmares that had all resulted in...

" 'Nocturnal emission?' " Abe asked, his brow rising.

Hellboy hadn't gotten that far. "In English, professor?" he muttered, still reading.

"Wet dreams, HB," Kate clarified.

He lowered his folder. "...Oh." Then his gaze slowly drifted to Liz across the table. "Ooohhh..." She reddened and raised her own folder higher in front of her face. "Wow, Liz, that was quite–"

"If you'll take notice," Kate cut in abruptly, "most of the individuals listed are agents and employees of the Bureau, from people way at the bottom all the way up to Dir–"

"The specifics aren't important," Manning interrupted, moving over from the window. "We've covered a few external cases over the past few months, but recently we've discovered a disturbing number of them among our own ranks, and we think they're all related."

"It's taken quite a while to get people to willingly admit their personal... _occurrences_..." continued Kate, "but you can see from those that have come forward, the numbers are shocking. Almost seventy-seven percent of our people have reported at least one case of nocturnal emission in the past three months. People that haven't had one ever, or at least not since childhood."

Hellboy whistled. "That's a lot of secret midnight laundry runs."

"So 'nocturnal emission' is an all-gender term in this case?" Abe asked.

"Yeah," Kate answered with a shrug. "Basically a nicer way of saying 'sleep orgasm.' "

Something sounding suspiciously like a snicker came from Hellboy.

"And a way to prevent _that_. This is serious, Red."

"What?" Hellboy asked innocently. "I'm all phlegmy this morning."

"And you mentioned that you think the cases are all connected somehow?" asked Abe.

"Yes," said Kate. "Only one occurrence per night, and only at night. What's more, and the main reason we believe them all to be connected, is that – even though no one remembers the exact events of the dream – all of our employees here at the Bureau recalled seeing a fellow co-worker before waking. We've tracked it all and have found that the co-workers that were remembered from the dreams then had their own nocturnal emission the night after. Which is why..." She paused and looked to Liz, who seemed to shrink further behind her folder, and took a breath before continuing. "Which is why we believe you're next, Abe."

Hellboy's mouth dropped. Abe's brows rose and his folder drooped. "I'm... flattered, Liz," he said awkwardly.

"Oh brother," she groaned, her face disappearing into her hands.

"It's not like _that_," Kate said sternly, but she was obviously holding back a smile, and doing a poor job of it. "At least... we don't think so. We believe these visions of co-workers in the dreams are merely glimpses of future victims."

"So..." Hellboy started, then trailed off. "Sorry, this is all a little weird."

Liz snorted. "_You_ think it's weird? You dont't blow up your room when you..." She trailed off and reddened again.

Hellboy cleared his throat and gathered his wits. "Okay, so wait, you said 'victims.' Victims of _what_?"

Kate opened her own folder and pulled out a large-print picture, which she slid across the table to Hellboy. It was a cartoony scene of a small boy sleeping sweetly in bed with a jolly, smiling old man in star-covered robes with a matching pointed cap standing over him. The white haired and bearded man had a drawstring bag in one hand, and with the other he was sprinkling some kind of dust over top of the kid.

"I'm sure you're all aware of the story of the Sandman," Kate said. "Well, the Bureau's gathered a few less-heard-of stories about him. He's not a happy dream-bringer or an evil bearer of nightmares in these ones. Basically, he's a rapist. Or..." She turned thoughtful for a few moments. "No, he's more of a _molester_. See, typically rape is a bad thing for the victim – in this case, the victim dreams of intimacy with someone they actually desire. Meanwhile..." She trailed off with a gesture, leaving off the obvious.

Hellboy thought it necessary to finish. "Meanwhile," he began, "this guy gets a bit of touchy-feely outside of the dream world. Huh."

Liz began shaking her head and rubbing her eyes.

Manning had gone back to the window, looking particularly haggard.

Abe just looked sick.

Kate continued, her voice grim. "A few tales say he only goes after virgin girls and, the day after their sleep in which he 'has his way with them,' they will then lose their virginity for real." Her tone turned darker still and she added, "One way or another.

"Other stories say that expectant mothers who dream about sex with a 'mysterious stranger' will suffer an abortion the next day. Along the same lines, a few mothers have claimed their pregnancies were the results of rape through dreaming, and that there was no _real_ father – as in, spontaneous conception. But _those_ very well could be entirely bologna.

"In any case, we think that there is _something_ – maybe the Sandman, maybe not – that is systematically taking advantage of everyone here in the Bureau. What and, more importantly _why_, we do not know. Fortunately, we have a plan."

"Why do I have a weird feeling about this?" Hellboy asked.

Kate smiled. "Oh, it's not that bad," she said. "Since we're fairly certain Abe is next, we're going to set up a trap using him as bait."

"Goody," muttered Abe.

"Great... But how do we know this Sandman or thing or _whatever_ isn't hiding somewhere right now and listening to us?" HB asked. "Obviously he's able to get around or _through_ our security. So what if he knows about our plan?"

"One thing about the Sandman that's common between every version of his story," answered Kate, "is that he only exists around a sleeping person. Or, more specifically, only around a _dreaming_ person. His presence in our world is limited, and he needs the dreamscape to move around."

"Oh. Makes sense... I guess."

"Basically, he only really exists in dreams – and nightmares – and can use them as portals to get in and out of our world."

"So you want to let Abe fall asleep, let our creepy little molester appear through his dreams, and then we just wake Abe up and close his access to the 'dreamscape?' "

"Bingo."

Hellboy shrugged. "Sounds easy enough."

Abe cleared his throat loudly. "And just how will you know when to wake me up?" he asked. "Before or after this thing has... its way with me?"

"Before," said Kate. "We have a little something that should come in handy: a Dreamscope."

"Cute," Hellboy grunted.

"Wear it like a pair of goggles," said Kate. "It'll let whoever wears it not only see into other peoples' dreams, but should reveal this dream-roamer."

"Dream-_raper_."

"Cute," muttered Liz sarcastically.

"Unfortunately," Kate went on, "we only have a single pair. So... who's it gonna be?"

"I'm out," Liz said quickly. "I don't want to even see what it looks like, never mind get close to it. Again." She shuddered.

"Well, _I'm_ the bait," chimed in Abe.

"Not me," Manning said quietly from his spot by the windows.

Kate and Hellboy exchanged stares. "Do we have to draw straws?" she asked.

HB let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Nah," he said. "I'll do it. I mean, what's there to it? I just catch the creep, and shove Abe awake before he can run off back into la-la-land. Piece of cake."

But even without the glances exchanged amongst the others in the room, Hellboy knew it would be anything but a piece of cake.

***

"I _see_ you, dearie," Hellboy cawed in a shrill British accent, leaning forward with the Dreamscope-goggles, which looked like a pair of thick glasses with four different coloured lenses for each eye attached to a spindly metal frame, covering his eyes.

"Okay," said Abe, fluffing his pillows, "it'll be hard enough falling asleep with you sitting in the corner without _that_ kind of stuff."

"Hey, just think of me as a piece of furniture." HB sat back in the arm-chair he had brought in from his own bedroom and placed in a particularly dark corner of Abe's room.

"Right."

They had decided that Abe's own room would be the best place to set the trap, since having him sleep in another bed might disrupt the occurrence. Not that he often even slept in an actual bed. "I hate sleeping out of the tub," he said. "I always wake up with dry gills." He moved over to the wall and turned on a series of humidifiers built into the room's ventilation system.

"Oh great," said Hellboy. "It'll get nice and steamy in here even before the _real_ action starts."

Abe blinked at him from across the room, then strode over and climbed into his bed. "Let's just get this over with," he said flatly.

"Okie-dokie."

Abe pulled his covers up, flicked off his bedside lamp, and rolled over, facing away from Hellboy.

For a few minutes it was quiet except for the hum of the humidifiers, until Hellboy spoke up from his corner. "So Liz dreaming about you, hey?"

Abe sighed. "Good night, Red."

In the dark, Hellboy smirked. "Nighty-night," he said.

Moments later a quiet voice spoke through Hellboy's earpiece. _"Good so far?"_ asked Kate.

"Yeah, fine," he whispered into a mouthpiece on the wrist of his coat's sleeve. "I'll buzz in the cavalry when I see the sucker."

_"Okay, keep us posted."_

"G'night, Kate."

_"Night, HB."_

He checked his watch, sat back, and waited. After only about ten minutes, he was bored. Patience was not a virtue of Hellboy's. Out of one pocket he slid an old walkman (old? He remembered when they were new) and slipped the earphones over his head, leaving it off the ear already occupied by his communicator. His chosen listening for the night: a mixed tape of rock. AC-DC, the Stones, Metallica... all the good stuff. The stuff that would keep him awake. He cranked it loud, as high as it would go without being heard by anyone else close by; he didn't want to wake up Abe. Or scare off any hidden rapists.

Abe had fallen asleep quickly, despite him saying he was uncomfortable with the arrangement, and for three uneventful hours HB sat staring at him through the Dreamscope. Eventually, at about 1:30 in the morning, a faint glowing cloud appeared above Abe's head. Hellboy thought it was just a trick his eyes were playing on him, and he checked without the 'Scope. With his plain eyes he saw nothing but Abe sleeping, yet when he put the eye-pieces back in place, there the glow was. Kate had said she never used the Dreamscope herself, but she had given him the same explanation that someone had once given her. Basically, another person's (or animal's, since apparently the 'Scope itself had proved that dreams are not exclusive to humans) dreams would appear as a "noticeable but undecipherable miasma." And now, staring at the glow over Abe's head, Hellboy could verify that. It was a murky, shifting cloud of every colour imaginable, and every now and then the mists would drift into a familiar shape, only to break up in a twisting swirl. Hellboy wasn't one to comment on most things, but even he thought the spectacle was, if nothing else, beautiful.

Over the next hour, the cloud grew steadily larger, and the occasional shapes would become more defined and last longer. Sometimes entire scenes, crude but distinguishable, would appear for a brief time before evaporating, and from watching Hellboy managed to piece together something about a man struggling to stand... he was thirsty... was that a palm-tree?... he was on his hands and knees... Evidently a bad dream – probably one of Abe's worst nightmares.

It was about 3 a.m. that the vague shapes and scenes stopped, and the swirl of dream-miasma seemed to swell. The shifting colours all turned to a deep purpley-blue and the cloud began to spiral directly above Abe's head, and from the centre of the spiral a thin tendril snaked through the air to the floor beside the bed.

_Showtime_, he thought silently. Hellboy clicked his music off and slipped the headphones off his head. He sat stock-still in the chair and simply watched, his left hand ready on the signaller on his belt.

The tendril of smoky dream-cloud seemed to pool on the floor, and slowly the mist rose and began to form a definite shape. It was a humanoid figure, tall and spindly, and as it solidified the details became clearer. The thing had long arms and legs attached to a scrawny body. It was dressed in raggedy brown clothes under a black tattered robe, covered in what looked like stars, some whole and some drawn only in lines, with a frayed strand of rope tied around its waist. On its head was a long, droopy hat resembling a nightcap, similar to the robe in detailing. Under the hat was what appeared to be a burlap sack covering the head and face, with holes for the mouth and eyes – one bright red and the other bright green – and tied with rope around the neck. Probably the creepiest thing about the creature was how it stood and walked: hunched over, head stretched forward on a long neck, its movements eerily smooth and coordinated.

As Hellboy watched in sick fascination, the Sandman reached a clawed hand under his robe and retrieved a handful of a faintly glowing dust, which he threw gracefully over Abe's obliviously sleeping form. The dust settled, and as it did the Sandman slowly tugged Abe's blanket away. Abe sniffed once, fidgeted and, still sleeping, rolled onto his back. Hellboy saw a giant grin appear on the Sandman's face underneath that burlap mask, and the creature began gently stroking up Abe's leg...

Shifting his hand from the signaller to his revolver, in one fluid motion Hellboy was up and out of his chair with the big gun in hand. He stepped up behind the Sandman and held the weapon directly at the back of his head. The creature froze.

"Not tonight, you sick bastard," he said coolly.

Without turning, the Sandman uttered something that sounded like someone playing with a high-pressure gas-valve; there were no words, only a series of varying hisses.

"_En anglais_?" Hellboy growled.

The Sandman abruptly spun around and hurled a handful of his dust into Hellboy's face. He grunted as the stuff went in his mouth and nose, but the Dreamscope kept it out of his eyes.

"Hah," he barked, spitting and wiping at his face. "Too bad I got goggles on."

But the Sandman wasn't done. From somewhere he had produced an old gnarled stick, and he began a fast and relentless attack on HB with it. Hellboy dropped his gun and tried to shield his face and head with his hands, but the thing struck from all sides. It was just a guy with a stick, why was he having so much trouble? Then he noticed the world was spinning, that everything was doubling, and he realized the dust wasn't just any ordinary dust – the Sandman had thrown something powerful, and he'd breathed it in. Stupid.

HB managed to catch the stick and tear it out of the Sandman's grasp, but only barely. He should have been able to tear the stringbean's arm out of its socket, yet he almost couldn't even disarm the guy. The dust was doing something fierce to him. Something bad.

His weapon taken, the Sandman lunged toward Hellboy and grabbed the back of his skull. Bent him down fiercely into a position resembling a lovers' embrace, and for a horrifying moment Hellboy thought that's exactly what it was supposed to be. But the Sandman only brought his burlap-covered mug within a few inches of HB's own face and spoke clear English in a deep and raspy voice.

"Sweet dreams," he said, and grinned widely.

Then darkness overtook Hellboy, and he felt himself go limp and fall backwards.

***

Right onto the hard, warm asphalt of an old highway.

The impact and a sudden brightness brought him back to his senses, and Hellboy struggled to get upright and on his feet. His dizziness had gone away and everything looked crystal clear again. The only problem was...

He wasn't in Kansas anymore.

Or Connecticut, for that matter. No, this place looked like New Mexico or Arizona. Somewhere down Southwest. Wide open desert all around, a few cactuses here and there, a couple plateaus off in the distance. A hazy sky and blazing sun above. A faint and dry wind, blowing with it a bit of dust.

Dust...

Then it clicked, and HB realized he was still in Connecticut. At least, his _body_ was. His mind, however, was God-knew-where. Shit-hole, USA, it looked like. Population: one.

No, population: _two_ – for there, standing down a stretch of old crumbling highway, was the spindly figure of the Sandman, grinning his big stupid grin at him. Of course he was here, too: he knocked Hellboy out and followed him into his own Dreamscape. La-la-land. But if he was here, then at least he wasn't back in Connecticut having his way with either Abe or Hellboy. Or... that's what Hellboy hoped, anyways.

The guy was really starting to piss Hellboy off, and out of the corner of his eye he spotted his gun on the ground. He lunged for it and raised it towards the Sandman. But when he pulled the trigger, the recoil was so absurdly powerful that the gun flew backwards out of his grasp – but not before wrenching his arm violently. Hellboy cried out and fell backwards with the force. The Sandman started giggling, a high-pitched and childish sound, very eerie and wrong, especially considering the voice the thing had spoken to him with before he'd fallen asleep.

"Oh, you little son of a bitch," he growled, rising to his feet again. So that was how it was going to be. Well, Hellboy could play dirty, too.

There was a weathered speed limit sign to his right. Maximum 66 mph. Hellboy dashed to it, tore it out from its mounting, and ran straight to the Sandman. He pulled it back as if to swing like a baseball bat when he got close, and intended to do just that, but as he was about to take the swing something caught the sign-pole from behind him. Hellboy turned his head to see it was the Sandman himself holding it securely in one clawed hand. The other hand shot out and socked Hellboy straight in the nose. He stumbled sideways from the blow, the sign falling from his hands, and landed in a sitting position on the asphalt.

"Hellboy," the Sandman said, now speaking in a German accent that only pissed HB off even more. "Let's not fight."

"Go to hell," Hellboy muttered from behind the hand holding his sore nose. Goddamn could that guy punch hard.

"Looks like we're already here!" The Sandman spread his hands and looked around theatrically. "I mean, where else does hell lie than in the head of a hell-_spawn_? Hell, your name is even _Hell_boy!"

"Dammit!" Hellboy roared.

The Sandman giggled again. He hunched over further and came to stand close to Hellboy. One long and pointy finger reached out and jabbed him in the shoulder. "What is it you want, _Hell_boy?" he asked. "What do you _dream_ of?"

"You," HB muttered, "in a cell."

The Sandman drew back and clasped his claws dramatically over his mouth. "Oh me, oh my! Such anger!" His hands slid slowly from his mouth to stop just in front of his face, and the fingers tapped together rhythmically and ponderously. "I think I know why there is such a fury in you."

"Oh yeah? Why?"

The Sandman, still hunkered down, hobbled closer and again jabbed him in the shoulder. "You grew up in a world that didn't understand you. Couldn't understand you." He jabbed Hellboy a third time. "You were the only one of your kind: a monster living amongst 'normal' people. All you ever wanted was..." Another jab. "... to..." Yet another. "... fit..." One more. "...in."

Hellboy snatched the hand that kept jabbing him, but it crumbled into dust in his grasp. From out of nowhere came the same arm of the Sandman's and it slapped him lightly across the face. The Sandman brought his face close. "Is it not true?" he screamed loudly.

HB said nothing and only stared defiantly.

The robed figure drew back again and shrugged. "Fine," he said. "Don't answer. But I'm in your head – I know your thoughts anyways. You're a lot harder to read than most people, but I can still figure it all out.

"Tell you what," he said, standing up. "Let's play a game. If you win, I'll let you go back to your crap-happy real-world."

"And if I lose?" Hellboy asked.

The Sandman rolled his red and green eyes. "Then you never wake up, of course."

HB's eyes narrowed. "What sort of game?"

"I want to see just how tough the legendary Hellboy really is. But!" He grinned and raised a finger. "Buuut, I want to know if it is the man or the _monster_ in you that is tougher."

Hellboy frowned.

"Oh, but before we get to _that_... What is your least favourite place to be?"

"Volcano."

"Ooohhh-ho! You sly devil, you! Trying to burn me up while you walk away unscathed?" The Sandman winked. "No, I spy, with _your_ mind's little eye, a... mall!"

With a comical _pop_, the desert around them was instantly replaced with a sprawling shopping mall. It looked just like any of the hundreds across the country, complete with recognizable and fully-furnished shops and kiosks. The only thing missing was people: no shoppers, no loiterers, no employees. Only Hellboy and the Sandman, sitting and standing in the main concourse beside a bubbling fountain.

Hellboy groaned. He _did_ hate malls: full of staring gawkers and untrusting security guards and wide-eyed shop-keeps, full of crappy music and screaming kids and the dull drone of a hundred conversations, full of the shifting and wafting aromas and stinks of all the people and shops. But this shouldn't be so bad without the people. Hell, it was even quiet; the only sound was the fountain. And the smells weren't so bad; just a bit of weird plastics and stale foods. But the Sandman's mischievous grin gave him a sinking feeling, one that told him this peace wouldn't last. Crap.

Another cartoony pop and there appeared literally hundreds of gray, bland humanoid forms. These bizarre beings began moaning and drifting about aimlessly, moving in and out of shops, and shuffling along the concourse on every level. Some moved in small groups, others alone. They sounded and even sort of looked like a herd of humanoid cattle. Overtop of their moaning, the speaker system began braying loud, obnoxious, and absolutely God-awful instrumental music. And overtop of all of that was the unmistakable and oppressive stench of raw sewage.

"Oh come on," Hellboy shouted over the din of the gray mall-dwellers and the music, holding his nose. "That's not even a normal mall smell!"

The Sandman shrugged. "Yes, but you obviously dislike it. Good enough!"

"Damn you."

He tittered. "Now, where was I before... Ah yes!" He snapped two clawed fingers. "The whole man-versus-monster thing! Well, Hell-boy, ready to find out?"

"Find out what?" snarled HB.

"You really never listen, do you? This!" The Sandman made an imitation handgun with his fingers and 'fired' at Hellboy with it.

Hellboy had been shot before – several times – so he knew the feeling. Even though no bullet or sound came out of the Sandman's 'gun,' it certainly still felt like he had actually been shot. HB clutched at his chest and fell back to lay flat on the floor. The pain lasted only a second, but it was replaced with coldness. Well, his back-side was cold, anyways. The rest of him was just chilly. Then he realized this was just because he was now _buck-naked_, completely exposed on the floor. Not only that, but he was...

Human.

His blood-red skin had been replaced with a pale peachy flesh. It was this he noticed first, then quickly that his feet were now actually feet: no more hooves, only five toes on each. These he wiggled in awe, and realized he _couldn't_ wiggle his tail – because he no longer had one. His hands shot up to his forehead next and, as he had already suspected, no more horn stumps. He even had a full head of long, black hair. But probably the most astonishing and bizarre change was that of his right hand. It was now just a hand. A plain old hand. Not big, not stone. Just a hand. He rotated it around and wiggled all _five_ fingers on it.

"Still ass-ugly," the Sandman said, "but not quite _as_ bad."

"Hey..." Hellboy said shakily. "Screw you."

"Yes, yes. Now, may we begin?"

"You... Give me a few minutes here."

The Sandman shook his head. "Nope. Doesn't work that way. When _you're_ in control of You, _you_ can make the rules. But since I'm in control, I make the rules. But since I'm also such a nice guy, I'll give you a head-start. Two minutes."

"What the hell am I supposed to even do?" shouted Hellboy.

"Oh yeah, I suppose that's an important rule. It's simple: you must defeat me." The Sandman smiled evilly. "Good luck."

Hellboy glared at him, and the Sandman just stood there, head bent slightly to the side, smiling at him. After about thirty seconds of this, without moving his gaze away, the Sandman said, "Minute and a half, Big Red. Oh, oops – Big Peach. Better get going."

Hellboy held the gaze for a few moments longer, until finally he broke away and dashed off. He shouldered and shoved past any of the gray figures that got in his path, ignoring their protesting moans. As he started fighting his way up a sluggish escalator, HB looked back down at the Sandman, who was standing exactly as he had been for the past, what, fifty seconds now? Damn weirdo.

Once at the top of the escalator, Hellboy realized he was still buck-naked and knew he would not be able to concentrate on anything until he had at least some underwear on. Seeing a menswear store, a rather upscale one, he ran inside and scanned his options. Suits, suits, and more suits. He found a big one in one of the racks at the back that looked like it would fit him – even though he was human, he was still the same proportions as before – and started tugging the pants on. No need or time for a shirt or underwear or socks or even a belt. He had one arm in the jacket when he realized the absurdity of that and instead just threw it aside – he just needed peace of mind, not to look nice.

His shame covered, Hellboy left the shop and scanned the rest of the stores around him. Surely there had to be somewhere he would find a weapon of some sort. Clothes store, clothes store, bath shop, clothes store, electronics store, clothes store...

His crude search was interrupted by someone tapping him on the shoulder. HB twisted around quickly, instinctively raising his fists, and narrowly dodged a left hook from the Sandman. He slid to the side, moving so he could grab his foe's torso with both hands and lift him up and over the nearby railing to the first floor concourse below. He grabbed hold and lifted –jeeze was stringbean heavy! – and just barely tossed him over the edge. The creep fell flailing to land hard on the floor below. Either the Sandman was deceptively heavy or else HB had lost a lot of his strength by becoming wholly human.

Already the Sandman was scrambling to his feet and moving to the nearest escalator. Hellboy had to hand it to him for at least giving a fair fight... if anything about the situation could be called _fair_.

Looking to his right, Hellboy could see the second-story entrance to a big department store. Surely there was something – a baseball bat, golf club, mannequin arm, _anything_ – he could use as a weapon in there, so he sprinted towards it, pushing aside any of the gray drifters that got in his way. Normally, Hellboy was fast. Even now, he was still pretty fast, but certainly not _as_ fast as usual. Okay, so far he was paler, weaker, and slower than before. Being human sucked.

Hellboy zipped through the security scanners just inside the doors and took a quick survey of the store. The first thing he noticed was that, while there were crowds of gray-folk in the mall behind him, in here there were none – it was completely void of any sort of life. Next he saw that this second story appeared to be just clothes and accessories, and a helpful sign hanging above the aisle in front of him pointed out that Sports, Hardware, Electronics, and all the other non-clothes-and-accessory departments were down on the first floor. HB followed a similar sign to the escalators in the centre of the store, and he shoved his way down them. At the bottom, he paused and glanced back up: no Sandman yet.

Sports was his target destination: there were any number of things there he could arm himself with. The selection was even better than he hoped for – a big display case showed a variety of Archery equipment, including several types of bows. Before, with his giant right hand, the use of a bow and arrow would have been out of the question. Now, however, he thought it would be a good time to try one out.

But as he approached the display case, he noticed it was already open. This set off an alarm bell in his head, and Hellboy stopped. On the shelf beside him was a rack of golf clubs and he grabbed a five iron from it. As he did so, the Sandman slid out from around the corner of the aisle, one of the bows armed and cocked. Without hesitation he loosed, and the arrow lanced through the air, into and through Hellboy's upper left arm. He cried out and lunged behind a display case in the center of the aisle.

Another arrow thudded into the cardboard stand he rested against. Cringing against the pain, Hellboy looked down at the wound. The arrow had gone clean through the skin and muscle, just to the side of the bone. Fortunately these were only sports arrows, with simple pointed and non-barbed tips, so with a bit of gentle easing and then a quick tug, Hellboy pulled the arrow out. He had been hit with more arrows than should have been allowed over the years, so this wasn't exactly a new experience. But he was just a human now, and he could see this injury was going to take a while to heal up – time he did not have right now.

_But it's only a dream_, HB told himself. _Sure, it hurts like hell now, but it's only temporary. Right?_

He didn't expect an answer, and indeed the only one he got was from another arrow that pierced through the cardboard inches from his head. That was his cue to ditch this cover so, with the five iron still in hand, Hellboy dashed from behind the cardboard display to reach the end of this aisle's shelving unit. Another arrow whizzed past his legs as he moved, missing by half a foot. He made it to his new cover safely, but he wouldn't be safe for long.

Hellboy backed against the shelves, taking a quick breather and listening for sounds from his enemy. The annoying music and the drone of the crowds drifting around in the rest of the mall were still present, obscuring any sounds the Sandman might be making. Still, Hellboy could make out footsteps coming closer, and he knew he had to keep moving. He ran down the aisle, back towards where the bow display case had been, but instead turned left at the end and headed away from it. Away from his foe.

Hellboy raced down wide main-alleys and narrow side-aisles, past shelves of every possible human need and convenience and luxury. He could hear the Sandman pursuing, but HB managed to keep one step ahead and narrowly avoided a few more of his enemy's pot-shots. When they had crossed almost the entire length of the store, and were now in the Pets department, Hellboy made a bad turn and cut straight in front of the Sandman. The creep aimed his bow and fired, and although his window of opportunity was a mere second, his arrow struck home in HB's lower leg. Hellboy yelped and stumbled, but managed to keep his footing and keep moving, and he quickly recovered.

His near-tumble cost him precious seconds, though, and the Sandman closed the gap. Fortunately for Hellboy, he had noticed in his running through the store that the shelving units were of a flimsy design, not meant for particularly heavy loads. Such was the case with the Dog Food Aisle, and as he reached the end-cap, Hellboy used all of his now-human might and pulled hard on the metal frame. The shelves resisted at first, but eventually started to lean and then actually tip over. The Sandman, almost smack-dab in the center of the aisle by then, had no chance of escape. Hundreds of pounds of dry doggy-kibble, not to mention the metal shelving itself, toppled on top of him, and he was lost in a mass of brown chunks and torn cardboard bags. Hellboy didn't waste a second, and he sprinted off as fast as he could on his wounded leg.

He made a bee-line for the escalators, and once back on the second story he spotted an abandoned jewellery counter in one corner of the store and headed towards it. There he hopped over the glass display counters and sat down on the inside. He grabbed hold of the arrow still protruding from his leg and used the same technique as the one in his arm to get it out. Speaking of the arrow in his arm, there was blood running the length of his limp and dripping on the floor. The leg wound was bleeding pretty badly, too, but not quite as bad. He wasn't his old self anymore – he couldn't heal nearly as fast. If he kept taking pot-shots like this, and even if they missed all his vital organs, he would eventually bleed out.

_Think, Hellboy. Think._

What was it he had always been told about humans as a whole? His father, rest his soul, had always been scolding him about it. But what _was_ it?

"_You were given a mighty gift, my boy,"_ Professor Bruttenholm would say, usually with a deliberate tap on the forehead, right under and between his horns. _"An endless source of knowledge and creativity. You just have to fill it up and make use of it. If there's one thing man can attribute to his success, it is his brain. And whatever it was you were intended for, my son, I can assure you that one day you, too, will be a man."_

Of course, his father had never meant that literally. But he had raised Hellboy as a human boy, and had certainly intended for him to become a human _man_. Maybe Hellboy had achieved his status as a man in other ways, and perhaps even in some non-human definitions, but he _was_ a human right now, and he had to start thinking like one. No more relying on brute strength and spur-of-the-moment decisions. If he was going to survive being a human, then godammit he had to be _wholly_ human.

There was a round mirror set up on the counter across from him, and in its tilted angle Hellboy could see his own reflection. He retained his orthodontist's nightmare of an under-bite and his small, humped nose was still far too close to his heavy brows, which rose high above his face. Scars still criss-crossed his skin, but there were no more horn stumps. His black goatee and side-chops remained as well, and his hair was even still long in the back, but it was also long on top – no more bald-spot. No more lobster-red skin, only a pasty, peachy flesh. And, he could see now only in the mirror, his eyes had gone from a total-orange to white with brown irises – and he actually had pupils now. As the Sandman had said, he was still ass-ugly by human standards, but he _was_ definitely human now.

Comparing his new face with his mind's eye image of his old face, and glimpsing an entire store of thousands upon thousands of various items behind him, an idea suddenly popped into Hellboy's head. It was crazy and had a very good chance of failing, but it was worth a shot. Wasn't that something else his father had said? That humans take risks, but those that succeed generally take _calculated_ risks. Well, this wouldn't be any sort of science, but it would take from humanity's other greatest trait: creativity.

There were some things he needed first, all of which he should be able to find here in the department store. He would obviously need to keep an eye out for the Sandman and avoid him completely until his task was done. Stealth was never Hellboy's strongpoint, but hey, this was a brand new day for Hellboy.

First he crept his way back down to the bottom floor. Hardware would have most of what he needed, so that's exactly where he went. It was close to the Sports department, which was far from the Pets, so hopefully if the Sandman was still struggling to get out of the dog food then he wouldn't take immediate notice of Hellboy slinking around. Jogging along on his still-bare feet, HB went up and down the aisles looking for what he needed. He found a pair of welding goggles that might work, but they were too squarish; a little ways down the same shelf he spotted some nice round wood-working goggles that would work much better and swapped them. Then he made his way to the paint section, and from a rack of dozens of colours picked only two: light red and dark red. Actually, on second thought, he grabbed two light reds and a single dark. Next, back near where he had found the goggles, he picked up a big carpenter's belt and put it around his waist, using it to carry the rest of his items. The last item from Hardware would be a vacuum, specifically the hose from it; fortunately he found exactly what he wanted: a big shop-vac, which prevented him from having to creep over into Housewares near the Pets section. Grabbing a pair of tin-snips from a nearby rack, Hellboy cut the hose from the body of the vacuum and removed the wide suction tip; he wrapped the hose over one shoulder.

While he was in the area, Hellboy went back into Sports and found the hockey equipment. He was looking for some big old hockey gloves, and found several brands. He chose the biggest, chunkiest pair there was and left behind the left glove. The shoulder and chest pads he toyed with for a few moments, but decided they would only encumber him; when the time came for him to put his plan into motion, he had to be able to move fast. He did take a nice, sturdy hockey stick, feeling it was a little better than the five iron he was still dragging around.

Having found all the things he needed, Hellboy started back to the escalators. As he neared them, he heard footsteps and realized the Sandman was up and about again. The steps were quick and deliberate, and seemed to be coming right towards him. He stopped and hid himself behind a nearby stack of paint cans, watching as his enemy appeared around a corner.

"Oh Hell-Man," the Sandman crooned in that German accent, "where o where could you be?" He was glancing around as he moved, carrying one of those big, artificial three-foot dog bones in his hand instead of that goddamn bow.

When he passed out of sight down another aisle, Hellboy waited a few moments until he could hear the Sandman's footsteps a good distance off. The coast clear, he made for the escalators and went back up to the second floor, and then followed the signs above the aisles to the washrooms. On the way, he detoured to the Shoe section and picked out a pair of big work boots that would fit him. These he left off for now, since bare feet were much stealthier, and carried them with the rest of his loot into the bathroom. Once inside, Hellboy barred the door with the hockey stick; that would give him at least a few seconds if the Sandman found him in here.

Now for the messy part. Hellboy dropped all of his items on the sink counter running along one wall and looked at himself in one of the mirrors above the sinks. Normal, peachy human. This was the first and probably the only time he would ever see himself like this. But if he didn't at least try his crazy plan, then maybe he would stay a human in la-la-land forever, and that was not a pleasant prospect. Besides, his face really was ass-ugly without red skin and a nice pair of horn-stumps.

Before getting to the really messy part, Hellboy picked up the sole hockey glove and slipped it over his right hand. With the left he grabbed the dark red spray paint and, after giving it a good shake, proceeded to liberally coat the glove. He gave it a few moments to dry, then carefully pulled it off and set it on the counter, the fingers pointed up to the ceiling. Next was vacuum hose, this time with the light red paint; this one was harder to handle as he sprayed only half its length, but it was okay if he got some paint on his hands. He set the hose aside to dry, and picked up the pair of wood-working goggles. Originally, he had intended to coat these with the dark red paint, but as he thought about it now, a useable pair of eye protection might come in handy against the Sandman, so he left them unaltered.

Now for the really fun part. If he was going to do this, he might as well go all-out. Hellboy removed the carpenter's belt, stripped out of his pants and, buck naked in the mall bathroom, grabbed the light red spray paint. He stepped back from the counter, took a deep breath, and started at the top. It didn't have to be perfect, and certainly _wouldn't_ be perfect without some help, but it had to be a fairly even coat. He tried to avoid getting any of the paint in his hair, and actually succeeded very well at that. His back was hard to get covered, but with the mirrors and some awkward bending he got a nice layer on it. Getting just to his crotch, the first can fizzled out and HB started on the second one. He coated himself from head to toe in bright, lobster-red paint, finishing with his hands. Then he just stood still and gave himself a few minutes to dry, all the while admiring his work. He was actually surprised how well he had managed to do all by himself in a mall bathroom, all the while with a mad Sandman trying to kill him. Thinking five minutes was long enough, Hellboy tested all his joints. He had expected that the paint would crack and flake off in spots, and it did do just that, but only minimally. More would fall off over time, but he only needed a few minutes.

With his skin back to a shade of red very close to normal, Hellboy pulled his slacks back on and proceeded to tie the work boots over his crumbling-red feet. He started to slip the dress shirt back on, but decided against it – he never wore white in the real world, so it would only take away from the effect. The vacuum hose he wrapped around his waist, letting the red portion dangle out over his butt, and twisted and tied it as best he could so it would stay in place. It was bulky around his hips, but the carpenter's belt that he put back on above it somehow made it feel better. Hellboy then slipped the goggles over his head, folding his shoulder-length hair under the strap so that it didn't look quite as long, and rested them on his forehead; both mock-horn stumps _and_ functional eye protection.

Last but certainly not least, Hellboy reached for the hockey glove. It wasn't nearly as big or remarkable as his Stone Whammer, but it would serve its purpose. All he needed was impression, not functionality. But even so, if it came to fisticuffs, having a padded glove like that on his hand would come in handy. He slid it on over his plain old human hand, flexed the fingers, and checked himself out in the mirror.

His appearance was very crude: a poor Halloween costume attempt at best. But all Hellboy needed was a moment of shock from his enemy in which he would make his strike. And what better way to stun the Sandman than by defying his imposed human appearance and confronting him as the regular Hellboy? An elaborate effort for what would be a moment, two or three at the most, of shock, but Hellboy thought it would be worth it. And if it didn't work... well, then Hellboy would be pretty pissed off for having gone to all this trouble.

Hellboy slid the hockey stick out of the door handle and tossed it aside; he wouldn't need it. He strode out of the washrooms, scanning the store for the Sandman. If his enemy saw him coming from a distance, the plan might still work, but HB figured it would be better if he ambushed the Sandman and caught him off-guard. His foe was nowhere to be seen, so Hellboy went on the offensive and started tracking him. He thought he could hear sounds from the floor below, but with the music and sounds leaking in from the mall he couldn't be certain; still, he was confident the Sandman was down there, and he went once more to the escalators.

On his way he passed the Menswear and had a sudden thought. He went to the coat section and looked for a trench coat; there would unlikely be an actual duster in here, but a trench coat would work. His search was in vain: nothing that even went close to his knees. Instead he happened upon a rack of fuzzy bathrooms, particularly a golden-beige coloured one. He shrugged and slipped it on – why not? It looked close enough _and_ was comfortable.

Deciding his appearance was good enough, Hellboy focused on tracking down and sneaking up on the Sandman. He went to the escalators and peeked down, didn't see his enemy, and started riding them instead of just using them as stairs. Half-way down, he caught movement over near the Electronics department, and quickly scouted the best route to cut him off. Smirking triumphantly, Hellboy reached the floor and strode off confidently on his warpath.

It was almost too easy. Hellboy slinked as quietly as he could along the aisles until he heard footsteps approaching, then simply jumped around a corner in front of his foe. The Sandman reacted instantly, bringing the dog bone back to swing, but his red and green eyes widened and the bone fell to the floor.

"NO!" he screamed shrilly, drawing back. "You, you... you _cheater!_"

Hellboy's plan had worked like a charm, and he wasn't about to waste his opportunity. Already he could see that realization was dawning on the Sandman, so he struck. First a right jab, that padded yet stiff glove driving hard into his burlap-covered face, followed by a quick left jab, then a powerful right hook. The Sandman stumbled back, but Hellboy wasn't done. He grabbed the creep by the collar of his star-spangled robe and pulled him upright, then proceeded to unleash a series of punches with that Red Right Glove. His hand was quite comfortable in it, but he saw it was certainly doing a good bit of damage to the Sandman's ugly mug.

A purplish fluid was starting to stain the front of the burlap mask and oozed from the ragged mouth-hole; some of this was sticking to the glove, but Hellboy didn't care. He also didn't relent, and with each strike he felt more power flow into him and, specifically, into his arm. Between punches HB glanced at himself and could see that he was also gradually reverting back to his regular blood-red, stump-horned, tailed, hoofed, demonic self. The bath robe transformed into his old duster, the carpenter's belt into his utility belt, and his painted hockey glove solidified back into Big Stony Red. With a triumphant roar, Hellboy stopped the punches and instead lifted the Sandman's lolling form high in the air, throwing him a good twenty feet into a nicely-stacked display of canned beans.

"God..." Hellboy breathed, "...damn you."

He wiped a bit of saliva from the side of his mouth and walked over to investigate. The Sandman seemed to be down and out, not moving in the slightest in his bed of bean-cans. But as Hellboy approached him, the creep started to giggle thickly through the purplish blood in its mouth.

"Well played," the Sandman groaned, his German accent gone and replaced with something very American sounding. "It seems I sorely underestimated you, Hellboy."

Hellboy lunged forward and grabbed his downed enemy by the collar. "Damn right you did," he snarled. "Now let me the hell out of here or I'll finish you off."

The Sandman feebly held his hands up in surrender. "Your wish is my command. It was fun." He smiled evilly and gave Hellboy a disturbing wink.

A growl rose in Hellboy's throat, but before he could so much as get his hands around the creep's neck, a rushing torrent of water appeared from somewhere behind the shelf that the Sandman was half laying against. The wave knocked the shelf over on top of them and Hellboy raised his arms to try and stop it...

***

"Hellboy!"

Hellboy jerked violently as water hit his face, and flailed his arms in front of him. A moment later he realized he was otherwise dry and that there was no shelf falling on him. Just a worried-looking Kate kneeling over top of him, an empty cup in her hand.

"Jeeze," she muttered. "Finally you're awake."

"I..." Hellboy started, then closed his mouth. So much to explain, all of it absurd, and, like any stories about one's dreams, the listeners wouldn't really be able to understand any of it anyways. He quickly decided they would all just have to wait for his official report, assuming he actually made one. Instead, for the moment, he sat up and asked, "How long was I out?"

"Seventeen hours," Kate said. "We didn't hear from you for a long time, so we started calling you through the radio but... no response. So we sent in some people who found you out cold on the floor."

Hellboy glanced around frantically but couldn't see the Sandman anywhere. He reached up for the Dreamscope, found it was no longer on his head. "The Sandman," he asked. "Did you catch him?"

Kate shook her head. "Slippery bugger got away, I guess. We've had someone watching the room with the Dreamscope the entire time you were out, but... nothing."

Hellboy rubbed at his eyes. "Dammit," he muttered tiredly.

Kate eyed him for a few seconds, then decided to just ask. "What _happened_ in there? I mean, was it a Sandman?"

"Some sort of Sandman if I ever saw one," Hellboy said. "Damn creepy, too. As for what happened..." He was going to tell her, but in that moment decided that he wouldn't even make a full report on this one. He shook his head. "I don't really remember. One of those dreams that just..." He waved his hand in the air.

"Okay... well if you recall anything, let us know?"

"Yeah, sure thing." Hellboy peeked around Kate and saw Abe sitting on the edge of his bed, his face in his hands. "Hey, Abe. You just wake up, too?"

Abe nodded tiredly without a word.

"Are you, uh, okay?"

"I'm still pure," said Abe, looking up, "if that's what you're asking."

"But...?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, Hellboy..."

"Oh no..."

"...but I dreamt about you last night."

Hellboy groaned.

"No," Abe said, rolling his big eyes. "_Not_ like that that. You were chasing something that looked like a corpse wearing a bathrobe. It looked hurt. Scared, too. But before you caught up, it went through a door and... the door disappeared."

Hellboy frowned. "Huh..."

"What?" Kate asked, looking at him.

"Nothing," he replied, getting to his feet. "But I think we'll all be safe from that boogeyman from now on."

He didn't even try to hide the smirk that formed on his face as he left the room.


End file.
